


Jet Boy, Jet Girl

by Lint



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lint/pseuds/Lint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is so much easier when you can just fly away. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Jet Boy, Jet Girl

Title: Jet Boy, Jet Girl  
Author: Lint  
Part: 1/1  
Rating: PG-13  
Characters: Lee, Kara    
Category: Short Story, Academy fic  
Archiving: LJ, Fanfic.net, or ask.  
Disclaimer: All respected copyrights belong to their rightful owners.   
Summary: Life is so much easier when you can just fly away. 

/\/\/\

The first time they see each other is in passing. 

 

A birthday party in a bar for someone they didn’t even know both dragged along by their respective roommates. They’re on opposite ends of the room, she in a group of three cadets laughing with two half-empty glasses in her hands, making all sorts of noise. He subdued, leaning against the wall next to a payphone, sipping his own drink silently scanning the crowd with detached bemusement.

 

The first cursory glance, no more than a millisecond of eye contact, there’s a familiarity there. When it happens again they both hold a bit longer, the recognition of sometime, somewhere, present on their faces. 

 

He doesn’t go over to her to see just where he knows her from, though her eyes still locked with his dare him to, she’s still in her group of friends and he doesn’t take the bait. She makes no move toward him though he thinks she is the type of girl to make the first move, should she be interested. 

 

That first time, no movement taken, no words spoken, just eyes catching the other’s all night over the rims of continually emptying glasses. 

 

/\/\/\

 

Sim scores are posted weekly outside the Admiral’s office. 

 

Each year has its own scoreboard, motivation they say, to give the lesser students something to strive for. Something he doesn’t understand completely, but still finds himself checking them every time. 

 

Second again. 

 

Just a few points shy of this Starbuck person. Third week in a row it’s happened. 

 

They haven’t been pitted against each other yet, something he knows will happen eventually, but in the moment feels the anticipation like an itch that he just can’t scratch. 

 

He can’t wait for the chance to knock the guy down a peg or two. 

 

/\/\/\

 

The second time they see each other it’s a challenge. 

 

Another session of class against class, his sign being the first one called, he waits next to his assigned simulator waiting for his opponent to be named. When he hears _Starbuck_ his hands clench into fists, jaw sets in grim determination, and lips curl into an anticipating grin. 

 

When _she_ walks down from the seats he recognizes her immediately, the girl from the bar, the one with bright teasing eyes. He does feel a little bit of a heel, for assuming the pilot who has been besting him the last few weeks was a man. 

 

She knows him too; he sees it in her gaze that lingers, as she keeps it there passing him by. “Apollo?” She murmurs. “That a joke or a description?” Tongue frozen in his mouth, no retort ready, he’s left gaping after her. 

 

It takes about three seconds to realize why she’s number one on the board, because that’s how long it takes her to blast her first raider. She flies circles around everything they’re thrown, pure kamikaze, howling wildly over the comm every time she makes a kill. 

 

He holds his own, though everyone watching can see the polar opposite of their styles. He’s straight precision, thought and counter-thought, doesn’t fire unless he has a sure lock, doesn’t duck flip or dive unless he has to. 

 

The scores are piling up, she still keeping a slight edge, her mouth spewing out the vilest motivations he’s ever heard. 

 

Just as quickly as it starts, it ends, her edge still holding firm. 

 

Their classmen actually cheer when they emerge, their rankings of one and two proved to be earned. Sweat drips down from his forehead, breathing heavy, and legs like gelatin. Another assumption of his is proven wrong, when he expects her to shove his face into the giant slice of humble pie she carved for him, never comes. 

 

Instead she simply folds her arms over her chest, gives him a slow confidant smile, and seems almost impressed. 

 

/\/\/\

 

By the time lunch rolls around they’re famous. 

 

The highest scoring sim run in nearly twenty years, so they say. 

 

People he doesn’t even know keep coming up to his table, some even want to shake his hand, and he can only imagine the line at hers is twice as long. It’s mildly uncomfortable, popularity being something he’s never strived for, the fear of others finding out who his father is coupled with the dread that any achievement on his part will be dismissed as nepotism. 

 

Yes, maybe if he’s honest with himself, he does have something to prove, but he’s here because he chooses to be. A mantra he tells himself daily. 

 

After the tenth, possibly eleventh, cadet stops in front of him he gets up to make a hasty exit, brushing past all the well wishers, eyes scanning the lunch crowd for her crop of messy blonde hair. 

 

She’s nowhere to be found. 

 

/\/\/\

 

The third time they meet it’s a sort-of rescue. 

 

Some civvie bar Thumper insisted they check out because it’s the kind of place with a reputation. Loud music, cheap booze, and easy pickings. When they arrive it’s not as rowdy as rumor would lead them to believe, but it is loud, and there are scantly clad females everywhere. 

 

Thumper’s eyes are practically popping out of his head, and he makes a beeline for the first one who looked like she’d give him the time of day, leaving Lee standing all alone. 

  
He gets a drink, briefly chats with a few flirty girls who just love a man in uniform, and watches as his roommate bounces back and forth between several different ladies. 

 

He’s not sure how long they’ve been there when he spots her, hunched over a table, nearly a dozen empty glasses in front of her. She’s shrugging off the advances of some scumbag who clearly thinks drunk is the best way to land a date. 

 

Feet moving before he realizes, he’s making his way toward her, shuffling through a sea of gyrating bodies. When he arrives at the table he makes his presence known, sidles right up next to her and glares down at him. 

 

“You okay Starbuck?” He asks, realizing he doesn’t actually know her name. 

 

“She’s fine,” Scumbag replies not even looking up. 

 

Lee ignores him. 

 

“Starbuck?”

 

She finally looks up, eyes glazed over with alcohol, that slow confident smile making an appearance when she recognizes him. 

 

“Apollo.” 

 

Scumbag finally looks up at him, sees the uniform, and seems as if he’s weighing his options. 

 

“You’re done here,” Lee tells him. 

 

Still looking. 

 

Her eyes stay focused on Lee, and Scumbag finally gets the hint, storms off muttering something to himself. 

 

He makes sure Scumbag is far enough away before he turns his attention back to her, looks just in time to see her head bob down and smash into the face of the table. 

 

/\/\/\

 

They’re half way back to the academy when he realizes he has no idea what barracks she’s assigned to. He brings her back to his room, has a gut feeling he won’t be seeing his roommate tonight, and puts her on Thumper’s bed. 

 

She snores like a frakking goat. 

 

Still, he can’t stop staring at her, thinks it’s probably creepy to be doing so but can’t help it. 

 

It feels like hours before his own eyes grow heavy. 

 

When he wakes up she’s tip toeing to the door, stops when she sees his eyes are open.   

 

“Hey,” he mumbles sleepily. 

 

“Look,” she starts in a clipped tone. “We had some drinks, we had some fun, but no I will not get breakfast with you, be your girlfriend, or whatever the hell you think is going to happen. Two ships, get it?”

 

He looks at her blankly, it feeling way too early to be dealing the obvious chip on her shoulder. 

 

“Your version of a thank you has a lot more words than the average person,” he answers through a yawn. 

 

“You want me to thank you?” she laughs. “You may be named for a god Apollo-” 

 

“Lee,” he interrupts. “My name is Lee.”

 

“Fine, Lee. You couldn’t have been that great if I don’t even remember.”

 

“Clearly you don’t.” Sitting up, he starts to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Nothing happened.”

 

“What?”

 

“You passed out in some bar, I saw you there, I didn’t know where your room was so I took you here, end of story.” 

 

She just looks at him. 

 

“You didn’t notice waking up with your clothes on?” He asks. “Or the fact that you were in a separate bed?”

 

The look on her face tells him no, the fact never even entered her mind. 

 

“You a colonial scout or something?” 

 

 “Frak Starbuck, I don’t even know your name. I don’t make a habit of bedding drunk girls if I don’t know their name.”   

 

She stares at him intently, a playful grin coming to the surface. 

 

“Nah,” she says. “You don’t look the type.”

 

She moves closer, eyes still intense, something inside suddenly fearful of the mischief he sees in them. She sticks out her hand. 

 

“Kara,” she says. “Kara Thrace.”

 

/\/\/\

 

The fourth time they meet they’re almost friends.  

 

He’s halfway across the quad when he hears his name being called, turns his head to see Kara waving him over to where she’s sitting underneath a tree. As he gets closer he sees she’s not alone, her companion another cadet leaning against the tree with his head tilted back, eyes closed, and legs stretched out. 

 

There’s a couple of books lying ignored beside them, both preferring to bask in the sunshine than bury their noses in studies. His own books are tucked under his arm, shifts them to his lap as he moves to sit next to her. 

 

“Why in such a hurry Adama?” She jibes once he takes his seat. “I doubt you’ve ever been late for anything.”

 

It takes a purposeful thought not to cringe at the use of his last name, but her friend doesn’t seem to react to it, or him. 

 

“Got maintenance next,” he answers picking a few blade of grass off his pants. “Not my best subject, so I like to get there early.”

 

“So studious,” she teases. “I think you definitely need to take a page out of me and Karl’s book.” 

  
The cadet he assumes is Karl finally opens his eyes at the sound of his name, lips parting in a big chesire grin, and sticks out his hand for Lee to shake. 

 

“Where are my manners?” Kara says. “Lee Adama, Karl Agathon. Karl, Lee.” 

 

“Good to meet you,” Karl says to Lee before turning his head to Kara. “Since when do you have manners?” 

 

She looks at Lee. “Mama done raised me wrong.” 

 

She and Karl both burst out laughing, leaving him to stare awkwardly between them, the outsider on the inside joke. Checking his watch, he shifts his books back under his arm, stands up quickly. 

 

“I better be going, we’re taking apart both thrusters today.” He looks down at Karl. “Nice to meet you.” Eyes shift to Kara. “I’ll see around?” 

 

“If you’re lucky,” she answers, that shit-eating grin of hers momentarily sending his stomach to his knees. 

 

/\/\/\

 

The cold concrete chills his back as he stares face up into the final bolt he’s suppose to remove from the thruster’s lower bracket assembly, his mind wandering back to the girl sitting next to the tree with the sun on her face. 

 

The ratchet remains motionless in his hand, focus not on the task at hand, irritation that he’s letting himself be so distracted growing by the second. He knew he shouldn’t have stopped, made small talk, or let himself slow down for five minutes.   

 

It’s her, not the bolt, taking all his attention, the girl who seems to not have a care in any of the whole wide worlds, if it doesn’t involve a Viper or glass of ambrosia. 

 

Kara Thrace, the maverick pilot with mischievous shining eyes he just can’t get out of his head. 

 

/\/\/\

 

The fifth time they meet is because of a note. 

 

A bright yellow piece of paper is taped to the front of his door, the sharp scratchy handwriting only bringing one person to mind. He peels it off and makes his way inside; Thumper isn’t there, so he doesn’t have to worry about getting some kind of sexual pep talk because a girl left him a note. 

 

Dropping his bag down on the bed, he unfolds the paper, knows he shouldn’t be surprised by how brief it is. 

 

_Sim room, 1900, be there. –Starbuck._

 

He wonders just what the frak they’re going to do at the sim room, thinks this has bad idea written all over it, and curses himself when he gets up and walks obediently out the door. 

 

/\/\/\

 

She’s waiting on the steps leading up to the building, twirling a key around one of her fingers. He immediately wants to ask her where she got it, wants to tell her just how many days brig time you get for snatching things without permission, and almost says he just came to tell her no in person. 

 

She doesn’t give him the chance to do any of these things before she grabs his hand and pulls him up the rest of the steps toward the door. Once inside she keeps pushing, never letting him get a word in edgewise, toward the simulators. 

 

“We shouldn’t be in here,” he says when she finally stops pushing. 

 

“Too afraid you’ll lose again?” She teases as she fires up the computer. 

 

Once the flight program is loaded, she walks over to her simulator, leaves the door open and stares at him until he does the same. It’s infuriating how he finds himself doing whatever she wants him to do.

 

  
_Apollo do you copy?_ crackles over the comm. 

 

  
_Apollo, copy_. he replies. _What’s the agenda here Starbuck?_  


 

  
_Maybe I just want to see how well you fly if I can get you to pull that stick from your ass_.

 

The program is off and running, she’s screaming at him every few seconds telling him not to think so frakking much and to just feel the bird, just shoot the raider, just be. 

 

They shout their throats raw with endless banter back and forth, blast countless cylons out of the sky, complete run after run until they feel as if they’re arms and legs will fall off. 

 

It’s the most fun he’s had in a simulator since he got here. 

 

/\/\/\

 

The sixth time they meet she drags him to the bar. 

 

She had just shown up to his room, didn’t even bother knocking, before charging in and pulling the books from his hand. He didn’t really have to study that night, but made a fuss regardless because he couldn’t let her think he was going to be so willing every single time. 

 

Once they get there it’s shots right away, before moving on to tylium bombs, then easing their way into a couple of oasis ales. He takes it slower than she, having a good time while trying to keep a level head, but she drinks like she flies, full throttle and no brakes. 

 

It scares him slightly, the last person he’d seen with no limitations and alcohol had been…

 

He takes a big swig of ale, swallows the thought down with it. 

 

/\/\/\

 

She’s tried to get him to dance but he refused, told her Adama’s had no rhythm in their feet. His loss she said, and made her way onto the floor with some third year who had at least a foot on her in height. 

 

Leaning back against the bar, half-empty glass of ale still in his hand, he’s greeted by a pretty brunette he knows from one of his classes, Celia Bukowski, call sign: _Upchuck_ , though through the slight alcohol haze he can’t quite remember which. 

 

They make small conversation, him asking just how she managed to land herself such a moniker, to which she actually blushes into her drink. 

 

“You drink too much at one little party,” she says. “And suddenly you’re branded for life.” 

 

He laughs politely, tells her not to worry about it so much, he knows someone with almost the same story and how she’s labeled a boozer for the rest her career. She leans slightly closer, puts her hand on top of his, his eyes immediately shooting to Kara out on the dance floor. 

 

They came together sure, but watching her grind up against tall guy as if they were the only two people in the place, tells him they aren’t leaving together. A small pang of jealousy hits him square in the chest, but then Celia smiles up and him, laughs at some other inane comment he makes, and he realizes that Kara won’t have that same pang should she suddenly look over. That she could probably care less who he’s talking to. 

 

/\/\/\

 

The seventh time they meet is for a pyramid game. 

 

Thumper won tickets with a nice hand in triad, but had the unfortunate coincidence of pulling night watch duty the week of the game, and handed them over saying someone should have a good time at the expense of his luck. 

 

He doesn’t even have to think about who he wants to come with him before he’s walking across campus and knocking on her door. 

 

Kara’s _frak yeah_ is as good a yes as any to his invitation. 

 

/\/\/\

 

Picon vs. Aquaria, not the most exciting match on the schedule, the arena itself is only about a third full. Nothing like when Caprica or Aerelon come to town, but a free ticket is a free ticket, and they’re having a good time regardless. 

 

Kara sits next to him screaming her bloody head off at the refs for bad calls, which according to her, is practically all of them. They’ve talked about pyramid before, random conversations between flying and boozing, but seeing her here so fired up and completely into the game he has the feeling that she purposely dulled down her tenacity for this particular obsession. 

 

Something strange he notices, is that whenever someone on the court makes a hard hit or tackle, she starts rubbing at her knee. He doesn’t think she even realizes she’s doing it, because after the fourth or fifth time he’s staring at the action, she just shoots a bemused _what?_ in his direction. 

 

At halftime she spends most of the twenty minutes explaining the best possible strategy the Panthers should utilize for their missed scoring opportunities to him. This sudden analytical part of her is surprising. In a viper it seems as if she acts on nothing but pure instinct, going with the flow, and only adjusting when necessary. 

 

He looks at her wondering just how many secrets are locked away in that crazy brain. 

 

“Gods I miss this game,” she says softly. 

 

Something stills in his chest at her words, it feeling like the first real thing she’s said since they met. 

 

/\/\/\

 

The eighth time they meet he bails her out of the drunk tank. 

 

Her one phone call, lucky him. 

 

Thanks gods’ it’s a civilian jail, and this won’t show up in her file, possibly affecting her flight status. And thank them once again she’s in her civvies and they don’t realize they have a cadet in their grasp, drunk and disorderly being something that have to report to the academy, should they ever pick up an intoxicated student. 

 

He follows the officer back to the holding cells, ignoring the calls of the men behind bars thinking they had a new arrival, before stopping directly in front of hers. He leans against the bars watching her laying there on the thin mattress, the goat-like snoring echoing off concrete walls, as the officer messes with his huge ring of keys looking for the right one. 

 

“Hey!” the officer shouts after finding the right key and opening the door. “Hey!” He shouts again while banging on the bars. “Your ride is here.”

 

She snaps awake at the noise, looking down at the mattress, before tilting her head upward to look bleary-eyed at the two of them. 

 

“Apollo,” she says dreamily. 

 

He rolls his eyes as he moves to help her off the bed. 

 

/\/\/\

 

Sneaking her across campus isn’t the easiest thing he’s ever done, but most cadets don’t pay all that much attention when on watch duty, so dragging a still drunk Kara on his shoulder it’s the most difficult thing either. 

 

At least he knows where her room is this time, no taking her back to his own quarters and hoping Thumper wouldn’t be there. Luckily her own roommate appears to be absent as he opens the door and pulls her inside. 

 

She giggles as he drops her on what he hopes is her bed. 

 

“Thanks Lee,” she says rolling to her side. “You’re a lifesaver.” 

 

Something in him suddenly snaps. 

 

Was that it? Was that all she was going to say or do in way of gratitude?  Was she going to expect this kind of help from him every time she wanted go out and get shit-faced? That she could count on good ol’ dependable Lee for help? 

 

“Is this how it’s going be?” He asks. 

 

“Hmm?” She doesn’t even open her eyes. 

 

“Is this how it’s going to be Kara?” He repeats, firmer, louder. “Am I here just to pick up the pieces? To catch you when you fall?”

Her eyes open at that, shifting and looking up at him. 

 

“Lee-”

 

“No, no, you think I haven’t seen you? You think I haven’t noticed all the drinking? That night in the bar, the one you don’t remember? Some scumbag loser was ready to pounce, and probably would have done something if I wasn’t there.”

 

“I didn’t-”

 

“Didn’t what? Didn’t think? That’s not something I get much from you is it?”

 

“I didn’t ask you to rescue me,” she shoots back, suddenly awake, suddenly sober. “I’m not some frakking damsel in distress.” 

 

“No, you’re just some frakking drunk.”

 

“So I like to drink!” On her feet now, moving face to face with him. “So I like to have a good time! It’s a lot more than I can say for you. How do you function by the way? I mean with that stick so far up your ass.”

 

“I don’t want to do this anymore! I’ve done it too many-” He stops suddenly, something he hadn’t meant to let slip out, realization that none of it is about Kara at all. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean-”

 

He’s out the door before he can think of a way to finish that sentence. 

 

/\/\/\

 

The ninth time they meet he’s trying to apologize in the mess. 

 

She won’t even look at him, sitting there eating her lunch, pretending to read a tech manual. His own tray sits ignored in front of him, appetite gone with the hope that she might actually listen to him. 

 

Sorry is such an easy word to use, yet so difficult to get the person you’re saying it to, to believe the feeling behind it. 

 

Looking at the side of her face, the only part she’ll let him see, he swallows audibly.

 

This isn’t working. Maybe a bit of truth will get him somewhere. 

 

“My mother,” he says quietly, cautiously. “She… Had a problem.”

 

She stops eating, still won’t look at him. 

  
“Every day after school I’d find her on the couch, a couple of bottles sitting empty on the table, talking to herself about something that may have never happened. Most of it was nonsense, stuff about my father, repressed anger the alcohol let out.”

 

Staring down at her plate. 

 

“I’d pull her off the couch, clean up the bottles, get her into her bedroom before Zak came home from scouts. *My little lifesaver* she called me. It was all I could do to hope she’d stay quiet for the rest of the night.” 

 

He stops, takes a breath. 

 

“I hated to next morning, when she promised to get better, that it would all end, but it never did. Hell it got worse when I couldn’t hide it from Zak anymore, she’d just jump on him too.”

 

One eye darts his way, looks back down at the table as quick as she can. 

 

“She slapped me one day, thought I was my father, thought I was out on some battlestar cheating on her.”

 

Curls her hand into a weak fist, pulls it away from the table and cradles it against her chest, still won’t look. 

 

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he says wishing she’d just look up. “It’s not your issue or your problem.” 

 

Still cradling that hand, he starts to wonder. 

 

“I’m sorry Kara.”

 

He gets up from the table, takes his tray of uneaten food with him, thinks she calls his name but is probably just hearing things. 

 

/\/\/\

 

When he gets back from class there’s a yellow note taped to his door, and he almost laughs the relief is so strong, the familiar sharp and scratchy writing staring back at him. 

 

She’s sitting on the steps twirling the key in her hand when he walks up to the sim room, no confident smirk this time, but a small smile.  

 

“You ever going to tell me how you got that key?” He asks. 

 

“Nope.”

 

He chuckles. 

 

 Inside she boots up the flight computer, looks back to him as it loads, he mistakes the moment for an opportunity. 

 

“Listen,” he starts. “About earlier-”

 

“You’re not going to get all weepy on me again are you?” She asks. 

 

His jaw drops the slightest bit. 

 

“Let’s just fly,” she goes on, cracking the knuckles of her hand, “life is so much easier to deal with when you can just fly away.”

 

He looks at her, cradling that right hand again, his mind wondering just how deep the enigma that is Kara Thrace goes. She stands there, suddenly looking so vulnerable, something in her eyes telling him the future of this friendship is riding on his answer.

 

“I can do that,” he replies. 

 

“Good,” she grins, back to that cocky smug cadet in an instant. “What say you and I smash those records?” 

 

“If we put them on the scoreboard we’ll get caught,” he says. “They won’t count.” 

 

“Come on Apollo,” she taunts, backing toward her simulator. “It’ll be worth it.” 

 

Just like that, he knows it will.  

  
  


End file.
